The Stone Roses: War and Peace

by Spence, Simon

  ‘The next thing I know is I get a call off Ian saying, I want to see you,’ said Jones. ‘He told me, I’m not happy about this.’ Four of the five Roses who had recorded the album – Brown, Reni, Pete Garner and Andy Couzens – showed up at Jones’s house in Manchester, and a protracted argument took place. Brown was keen to find out how much Jones was making on the album – the band had, after all, never signed a proper deal with him or Thin Line. Brown, still hurting from the Roses’ disintegration and financially stretched, was clearly agitated. ‘Ian was slowly but surely losing his rag and a fight was going to break out, and I was going to be the recipient of any violence,’ said Jones. He asked them all to leave his house. ‘They weren’t having it. So I said, Oh right, well, I’ve run out of cigarettes, I’m just going out to get some. I went out and rang the police and got them to come and throw them out. Obviously that didn’t go down very well.’

  Legal bills subsequently ate up much of the profit there was to be had from the release of the Garage Flower album, which included the eleven original songs recorded for the album in 1985, plus the stand-alone Thin Line single, ‘So Young’/‘Tell Me’. The band’s former guitarist, Andy Couzens, came to an arrangement that saw him credited as co-writer of all the tracks on the album, with Squire and Brown, apart from ‘I Wanna Be Adored’, ‘Here It Comes’, ‘This Is the One’, ‘Tell Me’ and ‘So Young’, which remained Squire/Brown compositions. The album reached number 58 in the UK charts. ‘In a way I wish I’d never done it,’ said Jones, whose relationship with Brown never recovered. ‘But I didn’t put it out as a bootleg. It was an official release, and it was an important part of their history. People who are interested in Martin Hannett’s work and career should have a copy of it.’

  Since leaving the Roses, Reni, now sporting a big bushy beard and long hair, had kept a low profile. He’d had plenty of offers of work. Paul Ryder, the former bassist with the Happy Mondays, had wanted to get a new project going, but despite Reni being a fan of Ryder’s work, he was determined that his next band would be his band. He also turned down offers to drum for emerging British reggae star Finley Quaye, whom he knew and liked – uninterested in session work. Rough Trade boss Geoff Travis tried to get him hooked up with ex-Suede guitarist Bernard Butler, but he wasn’t interested in playing with refugees from other name bands. The management of hit Scottish band Texas were keen for him to work with the band on an album. He liked the demos they sent, but wanted to concentrate on his own material. Reni retreated to the attic of his Manchester home with former Roses bassist Pete Garner to work on his own band, in which he would not drum but sing and play guitar. A great deal of intrigue surrounded his plans for the band, which had a great name, Hunkpapa.

  Squire’s new band also now had a name, The Seahorses. The Roses’ tour manager, Steve Adge, who had quit the group with Squire, was co-managing them. It was quickly pointed out by the NME that The Seahorses was an anagram of ‘he hates Roses’. Squire, now thirty-four, continued to associate himself with Oasis, who were, he said, ‘an inspiration’, and had co-written a song with Liam Gallagher for The Seahorses’ upcoming album. Squire’s new lead singer in The Seahorses was a former busker, Chris Helme, who bore more than a passing resemblance to Brown. He had a similar northern inflection, but his vocals were more melodic and strident, in the vein of Roger Daltrey or Robert Plant. When Squire quit the Roses, Geffen had picked up their option to sign him, and The Seahorses recorded an album in thirty days in Los Angeles with producer Tony Visconti, famed for his work with T Rex and David Bowie.

  In April 1997 The Seahorses toured the UK, in small, sold-out venues, to hundreds rather than thousands, with a Second Coming-lite first single, ‘Love Is the Law’, charting at number 2. The Roses had recorded a version of the Squire song in 1994, during the Second Coming sessions. Squire was back on Top of the Pops promoting the single, and his new band received heavy media coverage, although, invariably, many of the questions were related to The Stone Roses’ break-up. He talked of Reni’s departure as the moment the band truly ended – when their unique chemistry evaporated.

  Squire was also asked about the bitterness Mani and Brown had recently expressed towards him. Mani had said his ambition for 1997 was to ‘piss all over Squire’. He wasn’t surprised. ‘I knew there was no love lost, so I didn’t expect fond wishes.’ He had ‘no regrets’ about leaving the Roses. Already the question was put to him: ten years down the line, someone offers you $10 million to re-form the Roses, would you do it? No, he said. ‘No chance.’ There were no ego wars in The Seahorses, and he had experienced a better feeling playing with them than he’d ever had in the Roses. His personal life was still chaotic, however, and, despite his apparent confidence, there was a brittleness and emptiness to such proclamations.

  The same could be said of the band’s debut album, Do It Yourself, released in June 1997. The title came from the last three words Brown had said to him. It went to number 2 in the UK, selling over 300,000 copies, and gave Squire his first major hit in the US, peaking at number 8 on the Billboard charts. Despite an appealing goofiness to some of the lyrics, the band’s middle-of-the-road radio pop-rock appeal was deeply soulless. Any echoes of the Roses – and Squire’s guitar work was often, heartbreakingly, a reminder of what could have been – were distinctly hollow. Helme had written the best new tune on the album, ‘Blinded by the Sun’, and it became The Seahorses’ second single, reaching number 7 in the UK. Disruptive behaviour saw Squire sack The Seahorses’ drummer, Andy Watts, before the year was out – following the release of a third single from the album, the one co-written with Liam Gallagher, ‘Love Me and Leave Me’, which peaked at 16.

  The Seahorses’ musical nadir came via a stand-alone single, released in December 1997, written by Squire/Helme, a rock-by-numbers Oasis-a-like tune called ‘You Can Talk to Me’. It reached number 15 in the UK and did well in America, but it was truly a death knell for anyone who had thought Squire would walk from the Roses wreckage unscathed. The Seahorses remained a viable commercial proposition, however, despite looking increasingly like a charade, and the single was supposed to be the start of a second album. Geffen put much effort into promoting the band with slick videos, and in the coming year The Seahorses continued to spread their name, playing Glastonbury and supporting U2, The Rolling Stones and Oasis.

  Squire and Mani had quickly and easily patched up their relationship. But he did piss all over Squire in 1997, as Primal Scream resurfaced with a wildly original, experimental and challenging new sound. The Scream’s career since the early 1980s had paralleled the Roses’ in many ways, and the arrival of Mani revitalized the group, who had been considering splitting up following the poor critical response to their retro-rock 1994 album, Give Out But Don’t Give Up. A single, ‘Kowalski’, co-written by Mani, reached number 8 in the UK in May 1997 (thanks in part to a video featuring Kate Moss), as a prelude to the album, Vanishing Point, released in July. With its deep dub bass, aggressive electronic edge and irregular song structures, it was a huge critical hit. The album, although uncompromising, was also a great commercial success, hitting number 2 in the UK.

  The Scream had not just found a future – they were the future, and Mani’s funk was an elemental part. Mani said his talent had often gone unrecognized in the Roses, and he was ‘happy as Larry’ to play a lead role in the Scream. Like Squire, he could not avoid questions about the Roses. ‘Ian’s been unfairly savaged, I know he will have the biggest and loudest laugh some day,’ he said. The Roses, he made clear, had refused to ‘flog a dead horse. People will remember that.’

  In September 1997 it was reported that Brown had signed a solo deal with Polydor and was finishing his first solo album. Brown had asked Reni to drum with him again, but Reni didn’t want to revisit the Roses and had not taken up the offer. Reni also showed disinterest when Mani tried to get him to join Primal Scream in late 1997. In September 1997 Reni made headlines during a brief appearance in Manchester Magistrates’ Court on charges of d
riving with no insurance. It should have been a perfunctory matter, but the 33-year-old was up before a judge well known for his eccentricities. When the judge misread a letter of mitigation, Reni launched a verbal assault on him, accusing him of behaving ‘like a five-year-old’. Warned he could be in contempt of court, Reni replied, ‘Big deal, so what?’ He was sentenced to seven days in prison and served three.

  From Squire’s announcement to leave the band to the Roses’ ignoble ending, Brown had been on the receiving end of nothing but bad press. He had talked of giving up music to pursue a ‘purer’ career, as a gardener or flower seller. Maddix, however, had given him a great gift with the song ‘What Happened to Ya’, planting the seed for a solo album that had slowly blossomed. Aided by guitarist Aziz Ibrahim, and with encouragement from old friends and fans, he self-financed the deliberately lo-fi record. Much of it was written and recorded in his ex-council house in Lymm, and he played many of the instruments himself. When he was happy with the songs, he shaved off his beard and took them to the Roses’ former lawyer, John Kennedy, who was now the chairman of Polygram Records. Kennedy loved the work, and it resulted in Brown signing a deal with one of the company’s labels, Polydor. ‘It became clear he was a stronger songwriter than he was first given credit for,’ said Kennedy.

  Brown released his first solo single in January 1998, ‘My Star’, a seductive mix of snaking guitar lines, military beats and lyrics that explored the politics of American space exploration. The single entered the UK charts at number 5, and he appeared on Top of the Pops, causing a stir by having someone ‘play’ a tray of eggs, and then by tossing the eggs at the backdrop. In interviews he said he didn’t want another band: ‘I feel I’ve done that.’ He had started to get his personal life in order. He had two children to provide for, and a new girlfriend who lived in New York.

  Invariably he was asked about the Roses. It was the band’s ‘tightness’ as a gang that had made them unique, but that had dissipated during the recording of Second Coming, when in the 300 days of studio work they had sat down for a meal together only once. He was asked about his relationship with Squire. ‘I don’t have one,’ he replied. He was also asked about The Seahorses. ‘They sound like what they are,’ he said, ‘a quarter of one band. They do sound poor.’ He could not hide his bitterness towards Squire. ‘That fucker,’ he said, had left him ‘high and dry’ and then ‘magically’ discovered a new band, got management, and a deal, in the blink of an eye. Squire was ‘a grown man who turned into a pure baby’, he said. ‘He’s just empty.’

  Produced and mixed by Brown, his first solo album, Unfinished Monkey Business, released in February 1998, was a surprise and a joy. ‘My Star’, while clever and catchy, had been fairly predictable. The album was anything but, and the obvious comparison was Syd Barrett’s eccentric solo work following his departure from Pink Floyd. Rudimentary, doused in reggae rawness, deeply idiosyncratic, Unfinished Monkey Business bowed to no prevailing fashion or trend. It was warm, alive, childish, profound and full of soul: the singer who critics had said couldn’t sing was now doing it all himself. Tracks such as ‘Ice Cold Cube’, ‘Can’t See Me’ and ‘Deep Pile Dreams’ addressed Squire, and eviscerated him. Although Brown hoped his new songs would stand on their own, a good deal of intrigue came from the damnation Brown brought down on his former Roses band mates.

  The album made number 2 in the UK, selling 300,000 copies. Brown was still smoking weed, and deeply into reggae and rap, and when asked didn’t hold back his criticisms of the crop of bands who idolized the Roses, such as Oasis (‘babies pretending to be The Beatles’), The Charlatans (‘laughable’) and The Verve (‘miserable’). ‘First is first, and second’s nothing,’ he said. Brown also appeared at Glastonbury in 1998, and two further singles from the album, ‘Corpses in Their Mouths’, peaking at number 14 in April, and ‘Can’t See Me’, number 21 in June, kept the momentum rolling. His cocksure persona and forthright views attracted controversy. He threatened to sue Melody Maker over impenetrable comments he’d made about homosexuals and Western power structures (while talking about a Divine Comedy single), which had been shaped to portray him as homophobic. He was badly beaten up twice in unprovoked attacks in Warrington. And in October 1998 he was jailed for four months following an arrest for threatening behaviour on an aircraft.

  The incident had happened in February when he had been arrested on a return flight from Paris to Manchester. He had overreacted to a dismissive gesture by an air stewardess, and told her he would ‘chop her hands off’. The heavy sentence handed down at Manchester Magistrates’ Court on 23 October came at a time of growing concern about ‘air rage’ incidents, and Brown was made an example of. He was forced to cancel tours of the UK and Japan. While he was in prison, Reni sent him a letter every three days. Squire sent him a gift of a box of Maltesers, the present they had always exchanged at Christmas, plus a message that read, ‘I still love you’. Brown was released on 22 December 1998. He sent thanks to Squire via a third party, his reputation as an outlaw figure now entrenched.

  In January 1999 The Seahorses, having recorded much of their second album, split up. Singer Chris Helme called Squire’s new songs ‘muso wank’ and criticized both the lyrics and tunes. The break-up coincided with Jive/Zomba releasing a remix of ‘Fools Gold’ that reached number 23 in the UK in February, and with Mani associating himself, as DJ, with Roses tribute band The Complete Stone Roses. Jive/Zomba also released a tenth-anniversary edition of the Roses’ eponymous album, and it made its highest showing on the UK charts yet, hitting number 9. With Squire now unattached, Mani apparently up for it and the Roses’ music more popular than ever, there was the first serious talk of a band reunion, and they were offered £1.25 million for two gigs.

  Brown’s spokesman issued a firm denial. After being released from prison, Brown was soon back in the Top 10, having collaborated with the innovative DJ Shadow of the London collective U.N.K.L.E. on a new single, ‘Be There’. ‘There’s something different, more than just music, about Ian,’ said Mo’ Wax Records and U.N.K.L.E. founder James Lavelle. In November 1999, Brown’s second solo album, Golden Greats, was released, peaking at number 14. It had critics frothing at the mouth, and was variously called a ‘left-field masterpiece’ and a ‘magisterial comeback’. It had a heavy electronic sound and the lyrics were less concerned with Squire, many written while he had been in prison. It was seen as mature, brave work, and the singles from it – ‘Love Like a Fountain’ (UK no. 23), ‘Dolphins Were Monkeys’ (UK no. 5, featuring a cover of Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’ as a B-side) and ‘Golden Gaze’ (UK no. 29) – firmly established Brown as a solo artist of stature.

  Squire, meanwhile, was reduced to advertising in the music press for applications to join his new ‘Skunk Works Project’. He briefly hooked up with a former member of The Verve and a former male fashion model, but it was destined to come to nothing, as he now admitted it was ‘impossible to create the chemistry’ the Roses had once had.

  In early 2000 there were rumours of a single, ‘Selective Indignation’, from Reni’s new band, now called The Rub. He had auditioned many players for The Rub, a name taken from Shakespeare’s Hamlet soliloquy ‘To be or not to be’. A short UK tour was arranged to test the waters. He played six gigs in small venues but, despite the West Coast rock sound and attractive harmonies, there was no getting away from the fact that the audiences wanted to see him play drums, not the guitar. After the tour he got back into painting, forsaking music for art for long periods.

  Mani and Primal Scream maintained their momentum with a new album, XTRMNTR, which reached number 3 in the UK in 2000, recording a swift follow-up, Evil Heat, which reached number 9 in 2002. Both albums were unconventional, experimental and confrontational, and the way the Scream worked was almost as an anti-group, an egoless conglomerate of moveable parts. The process, although artistically rewarding, often left Mani pining for the more traditional rock-band set-up – the Roses. ‘I want to put our differences as
ide and get together for one summer,’ he said. ‘We’d just do a tour and show all the kids who never saw us what we were about. I think the Roses deserve another shot.’

  In October 2001 Brown released his third solo album, Music of the Spheres (UK no. 3), which included his most accomplished single to date, ‘F.E.A.R’ (UK no. 13). The album’s lyrics had a hippyish, quasi-visionary aspect; the music was minimal and sensual. It was another step forward, and in 2002 he was rewarded with an NME award for ‘best solo artist’ and a Brit Awards nomination for ‘best male solo artist’. He was treated to glowing profiles and serious reappraisals of his talent, and was asked to make a cameo appearance in a Harry Potter film. Questioned about the possibility of re-forming the Roses – there were rumours of a coming together to play the opening ceremony of the Commonwealth Games, which came to Manchester in the summer of 2002 – he remained unoptimistic. ‘I can’t see the day. We’re all too far apart.’ He attributed his prodigious output as a solo artist to the wasted years recording Second Coming. When he was asked more specifically about his relationship with Squire, he said, ‘John’s a great guitar player, one of the greatest. I don’t want John playing dull or flat songs. I don’t associate him with those feelings. I’d like him to come out with a great record again.’

  Squire released his first solo album, Time Changes Everything, in September 2002, on his own North Country label. It was recorded in his farmhouse in the Peak District, close to Macclesfield. He was settled with a new partner, had two children from previous relationships, and the music was rustic, reflective, acoustic and homely, with shots of subdued electric guitar. It was a shock to hear Squire sing, and it was almost impossible to get over that. His voice was nasal and unappealing, but he poured his heart into the tracks, which bore many echoes of former glories. Unlike Brown, who had damned Squire on his debut solo album, Squire was more forgiving in his ruminations on Brown – particularly on the emotional ‘I Miss You’. He even included a song about the Roses, ‘15 Days’. Co-produced by Simon Dawson, who had worked on Second Coming, the album reached number 17 in the UK charts, but a single, ‘Joe Louis’, failed to break the Top 40.